


The Hustle

by morvish, sinelanguage



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morvish/pseuds/morvish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinelanguage/pseuds/sinelanguage
Summary: When Lance gets injured, Keith gets Lance's mission of a life time- espionage-by-flirting. In order to pull the mission off, Keith has to listen to Lance's over-the-comms flirting techniques- as well as navigate the confusing waters that come with them.





	

Keith had absolutely no desire to be doing this.

He was contentedly aware of his lack of skills when it came to diplomacy during missions; and was decidedly happy to stand in the back of the room while other people – people who were better at the carefully planned and intricately worked-out talksy-wordsy thing than he was – did the talksy-wordsy thing. He enjoyed battering into situations with a ham fist. It worked. Mostly worked. It was what he was good at.

He groaned into his palm as Lance flicked his ear.

“No,” cried Lance. “You have to go along with it. This is improv.”

“Lance – this is my dignity. I don’t have to go along with it if I don’t want to.”

Lance glowered at him from his space-agey wheelchair. His long leg was held up straight ahead of him, wrapped in a huge and seemingly indestructible cast, while his middle was still all bandaged up. According to Coran, for broken bones, using the pods was a waste of energy. They didn’t do much to help – but casts, casts were apparently universal. Or – well, between Alteans and humans anyway. There were some more blobby aliens Keith assumed would probably find casts pretty useless. But then again, he also supposed that without bones, there’d be no need to fix them, so no need for casts anyway.

Lance flicked his ear again.

“Stop thinking,” he said. “It’s not normal.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You’re just grouchy.”

“You’d be grouchy too if the mission of a lifetime was taken from you just because you shattered every bone in one lousy leg,” Lance crossed his arms.

“And two ribs.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Whatever, and two ribs.”

Keith grimaced. “Besides, it’s not the mission of a lifetime.”

Keith crossed his arms and huffed, feeling his hair blow up from his forehead and fall back down. It was frustrating that Lance was being so obstinate about his bitterness; it was making him very poor company, and was stressing Keith out more than he already would be about the mission. He was never first choice when it came to a mission requiring charisma and charm. But unfortunately, half of the team was missing. Trapped, or kidnapped, or worse. And the only way to get them back was to get information from one particular person, and those left in the Castle had decided that _wooing_ this alien was the only way to go.

Lance hissed. “Maybe not for _you_ , but you have the flirting capabilities of a … a Coran.”

Keith barked a laugh.

“Don’t pick on Coran,” he said.

“I love Coran,” countered Lance. “But he’s no good at flirting. And neither are you.”

Keith let out a frustrated snort.

“What does it even matter?” he jumped up from his seat next to Lance. “You’re going to be on the comm the whole time telling me what to say – why do you have to teach me this stupid stuff?”

Lance pushed his wheelchair forward, bumping the back of Keith’s knee with a jolt.

“Stop being ungrateful. I’m just trying to help you out for when you inevitably screw this up.”

Keith turned back to give Lance a frown.

“Well what’s the point if my screw up is inevitable, Lance?” he asked, spitting his name. “Let’s just – take a break, OK?”

“Fine, fine!” Lance wheeled away awkwardly. “Your funeral.”

Keith huffed, and crossed his arms, annoyed, as he watched Lance scoot out the room. He understood that Lance was frustrated that he couldn’t go on the mission this one time – but they had to rescue Shiro and Hunk. They were trapped, and if the only way to get them back was to pull off this heist, then that was the only way to get them back. Lance could bear to be a bit more understanding and helpful.

He made his way to the lounge, deciding to give Lance some time to cool off. Keith knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Lance was being mulish because he was worried about their friends. But Keith was worried too - and Lance being unhelpful was just seriously … unhelpful.

Keith flipped onto the couch, arms still crossed as he lay back staring at the ceiling.

Hunk had stuck glow in the dark stars there one night. It had been Hunk, Lance and Keith - all awake and feeling too buzzed after what had definitively been a very bad day. They had expended their energies into finding the only ladder in Castle, and using it to stick Hunk’s stars up there. It had been dangerous with a rickety ladder, and definitely without adhering to any health and safety guidelines using it. There had been a lot of laughter, and every time Keith looked at the ceiling now he was filled with the pride and thrill of the memory.

Keith shuffled over to face the back of the couch instead.

He hoped Hunk was OK, wherever he was.

He picked at a loose thread on the cushion in front of him. The quiet made him restless, especially under the contrast of the glow in the dark stars. Everything felt off, like a plastic toy warped in the sun, as there really ought to be noise here. It was unnatural and it set him on edge. Even the soft hum of the castleship in the background raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

There wasn’t a substitute for noise in the lounge, so he went to find the next best thing.

It took Keith a while to find Lance. Lance had slunk off to one of the smaller corner lounges, hidden in a nook of the castleship. The room could only fit two small sofas, with barely enough space for a table between them. 

Lance laid halfway on the sofa, head propped awkwardly on the armrest. It didn’t look like he could manage getting all the way on it, as he’d left his casted leg on the wheelchair. It could pass as Lance using it as a footrest, if he didn’t look so uncomfortable. Instead, it just looked like a stubbornly ignored mistake.

“That wasn’t much of a break,” Lance said. He hadn’t bothered to lift his head from the armrest, and it squished his voice as much as it squished his cheek.

It was a decent break; Keith had been gone for at least half an hour, but then again Lance’s definition of break could measure on the longer side. 

“You didn’t want to take a break in the first place.”

He wasn’t trying to make everything worse, but by the glare Lance gave him, he’d done just that. Lance’s expression soured, frown strained across his face. “I never said that,” he said. 

Technically, he hadn’t. But communicating with Lance meant trying to parse his words, actions, and expressions for a shaky-at-best hypothesis on Lance’s inner workings. Keith looked at the sad scene before him and said pointedly, “You’re _sulking._ ” 

At least that made Lance prop himself up- or try to. The wheelchair shook as Lance used his elbows to level himself, and Keith grabbed the top to make sure it didn’t roll out the door. After a moment of testily glaring at Keith, Lance deflated and fell back down on the couch. 

“Yeah, well, everyone else is busy trying to figure out how to save Hunk and Shiro,” Lance said. “I spent like, two seconds with Pidge before she nearly clocked me with the communicator she’s setting up.”

Lance tried to motion with his hands, but it didn’t work. Keith rapped his fingers along the top of the wheelchair, feeling awkward and like he didn’t quite know what he was supposed to be consoling. 

Despite this, Lance marched on, “And I tried to talk to Allura but she’s just like, completely absorbed in the maps, and I don’t really want to listen to Coran figuring out the fancy outfit  
_you_ get to wear, and...”

Lance gave a deep, heavy sigh, dramatic and filling the air like the smell of burnt popcorn. Then, almost unnoticeably, he sighed much more genuinely, a short huff of air almost muffled entirely by the fabric of the couch. 

“And I’m _supposed_ to be helping you,” Lance said. “And I’m trying to! You have to take this more seriously-”

Gripping the wheelchair harder, Keith’s knuckles turned white. Lance couldn’t be more wrong, and yet here he was, trying to take some kind of highroad. “I am taking this seriously!” Keith said. 

Lance looked like he had a retort, his lips curved into a frown but open enough for a bite. Keith cut him off before he got it. “I just don’t think this preparation will help.”

Silence reigned, Lance’s retort dead on his lips. Then, the wheelchair knocked into Keith’s shins; Lance had sunk further, as far as possible, into the couch. His head no longer on the armrest, instead in the corner of the couch, being enveloped in one of the cushions. 

“Well, _sorry_ ,” Lance said. Whatever sulkiness in his tone got worse, from over dramatic to snappish. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Keith said. He didn’t have a solid grasp on what he meant, he just knew that he didn’t want Lance to apologize and sulk more. “I don’t exactly prepare things,” Keith elaborated as it came to him, “And it’ll just be easier on both of us if you help me then, instead of now.”

This seemed to appease Lance; he no longer let the sofa consume him whole. Instead, he motioned toward Keith with his arm, a confusing shake of a hand gesture that went on for too long. 

“Help me up,” Lance said, when the gesture didn’t work. 

Grabbing Lance’s palm with a hard grip, Keith pulled Lance upright so that he sat on the couch properly. His leg was still propped on the wheelchair, but it no longer looked awkward and uncomfortable. 

“It’s just… frustrating,” Lance said. He was rubbing his own palm with his thumb, looking past Keith. “It’s not really an ideal situation.”

Keith expected more complaining that didn’t come. Instead, Lance looked at him grimly, eyes deadset. “I know we’ll find them,” he said. 

“We will,” Keith agreed, before Lance could continue. This seemed to surprised Lance, who blinked wildly at Keith, before shaking his head and nodding. 

After a beat, Lance tacked on, “It’d stink less if I got to flirt, you’re not going to _really_  
enjoy it.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but he didn’t contest him. Honestly, he was kind of grateful for the slight lift in mood. He’d take what he could get. Then, he patted Lance on the shoulder, in what he hoped was somewhat of a comfort. Lance stared at the hand, then with a jerk of his head, turned his gaze away. 

Mood dropped, again. After a beat of pause, Keith said, “At least it won’t end with me tied to a tree.”

Lance groaned, but didn’t sulk; he instead tried to push the wheelchair into Keith’s shins. It was an easily mitigated attack; Keith just had to hold on to the top of the chair. “Haha, very funny,” he said, looking up at Keith, half-smile on his face. Then, he rubbed at his shoulder, and added with a lowered voice, “You… you should probably talk to Coran to get your cool fancy outfit ready.” 

Keith opened his mouth to argue, but stopped as Lance gave him a new, pained, smile-ish grimace. 

“Yeah,” Keith said. He stayed for a bit longer anyway, and Lance didn’t seem to protest it much.

* * *

“Testing, testing, one two three,” said Lance, and Keith felt regret crawl up his neck. This wasn’t going to work. This wasn’t going to work, and he’d actually be required to listen to the inevitable gloating when the plan inevitably splatted on the ballroom floor. “Okay, come on, if we’re going to do this, you need to like... nod. Or something.”

Giving the curtest nod he could manage, Keith bit his tongue to hold back a retort. Now that the plan rolled into action, he couldn’t speak- he just had to cue Lance in that he’d heard something. He had no way of cutting off any nonsense if Lance trekked down an unwieldy path of conversation. 

Great.

“That was the worst nod I’ve ever seen,” Lance said, on an unwieldy path of conversation. “You could at least try. I’m helping you out. What ever happened to, I don’t know,” Lance paused. He lowered his voice a notch, and it sounded nasally, like he was pinching his nose. “You’re going to be on the comm the whole time, I don’t need to listen to your awesome advice.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Keith hissed, quiet as he could. One of the aliens, a lanky, willowy bird with dark gray feathers tipped in pink looked over to him, head cocked to the side. Keith cocked his head to the side in return. It seemed to work. The alien tutted, and turned back to her previous conversation. 

A low whistle sounded in Keith’s ear. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” continued Lance in his manufactured Keith voice. He had to be pinching his nose. “I just have to mess up this entire mission by being a- by being a butthead.”

Keith sucked in a breath of air through his mouth, and released it through his nose. 

“Don’t respond to that, you’ll blow your cover,” Lance added, voice back to normal, if a bit too chipper. “Now look for the- the blue one, from the photo. That’s who you have to put best moves on.”

Keith rolled his eyes, and bit back a mutter of, “I _know_ ,” instead giving Lance a nod more up to his nodding standards.

The photo of their mark had been kind of grainy, but it had made out a stocky blue person - humanoid as far as Keith could tell - and with four arms.

Lance had made a comment about how the more arms the guy had, the more people he could pull ‘The Move’ on. Keith had crinkled his nose, but he did think having four arms would probably be pretty useful. Not for pulling moves, let alone whatever ominous, capitalised move Lance was talking about. But if he had four arms, then he could easily handle four knives. That sounded pretty sweet to Keith.

The picture had shown him wearing clothes that were apparently associated with engineering; a dark shirt tucked into some kind of tight fitting leggings or pants, and apparently this outfit was complete with something eerily similar to a cowboy hat. Coran had ascertained that the hat was because he was probably from a nearby planet. He shouldn’t be wearing those clothes here though; it was a black tie event, and to Keith’s surprise everyone was in fact wearing something kind of like what he’d expect at a wedding on Earth.

Keith adjusted his own suit. It wasn’t exactly the same, just something Coran had found in the Castle - he had a blue blazer, with a sort of creamy tunic underneath. He’d opted to wear his own black jeans, though Coran had insisted that the fashion was shorts - Keith didn’t see himself as a shorts-wearing kind of guy.

When Keith had said this, Lance had looked at his pants-covered legs for an entire minute with intense scrutiny, then pulled back and said, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Keith didn’t deign him with a response.

So he was looking for a blue, four-armed cowboy.

Keith leaned against a nearby pillar and peered around the room for the alien - although everybody at the event appeared to be very alien, even to this planet. Another gray bird, this time with deep red tips on their feathers, a bipedal lizard with trails of slime dripping off her fingers, a humanoid that looked awfully like, well, a human, had it not been for the second pair of eyes gleaming from the back of her head. But no blue diplomat, and no key to Shiro and Hunk’s freedom.

Keith sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. One of the bird aliens cocked her head at him again, and Keith returned the look, as he had before. Her feathers ruffled, from the tips of her wings to her neck, and she tutted louder, then carried on her conversation with a wary gaze toward Keith. 

“No no no, you’re crossing your arms, aren’t you?” said Lance. Keith rapped his fingers on top his crossed arms, then unlinked them. “Come on, this guy likes- you know. People who don’t look like they’ve planned out his murder in seven different ways.”

“He’s not even-” Keith started quietly, only to be stopped by a low, drawn out groan. Keith opened his mouth to finish, but Lance continued, sound stretching through the air like over-done taffy. 

When Lance finally thought he won, Keith added petulantly, “Here.”

“Quit _talking_ ," Lance whined. 

A pause stretched between them.

“And he’s totally here. Look at the bar- on your left- other left.”

Before Keith could move more than an inch on the right direction, Lance added, “Don’t- don’t look directly at him. Come _on_.”

From the corner of his eye, Keith could see him. He let out a gratified puff of surprise. The alien was - well, attractive. Not that that was important or anything, but it was still a shock. The picture hadn’t really given any indication to that. But Keith supposed, a picture could never really capture something about the energy people had, and this alien had bags of some kind of energy Keith could - objectively - appreciate.

The diplomat was wearing an outfit similar to Keith’s - and had apparently also decided to wear pants, not shorts too. He was short, and looked well-built, with a quick and charming smile he was currently using on a server. 

“Don’t flirt with him yet,” Lance said. Keith wished he could communicate frustration without facial expressions or noise, just a telepathetic reprimand. “Make him notice you, and, um- flirt with someone else.”

This was some low-brow tactics, even for Lance. Maybe especially for Lance. Lance never seemed to have any tactics in flirting, other than inserting his foot into his mouth at the first possible opportunity. Playing a long game wasn’t exactly in his moveset, not that his moveset was any good to begin with.

Keith flicked the comm, and it rang loud in not only his own ear, but Lance’s, too. Lance yelped, finally properly reprimanded for his course of actions. “You’ll blow your cover!” Lance said, voice cracking through the exclamation. “Come _on_ you need practice before you actually flirt,” Lance continued. “We can’t have you ruining this mission because you have no game. That’d just be sad.”

“You’re taking my lack of game very seriously,” whispered Keith; if Lance wanted to take this situation with levity, he would too. He knew Lance was taking the mission as seriously as he was- even if he wasn’t really acting like it. 

Lance gave another drawn out sigh through his teeth. “Stop talking,” Lance said. “And of course I’m taking this seriously, we went over that, I have to live vicariously through you.”

After a pause, he added, “And we have to interrogate this guy to save Hunk and Shiro.” The conversation weighed down, tone heavy. 

Not for the first time, Keith’s words were mistaken as barbs. He couldn’t even defend himself, as Lance continued his communicator babble.

“So stop being so- so _annoying_ about this, there’s… don’t move yet, but there’s this reptile dude that’s been checking you out this whole time,” Lance said. “Has the worst taste, but he should be good practice.”

Keith kept his arms at his side, trying to spot the supposed reptile dude from the corner of his eye. 

“Oh, now you just look unnatural,” Lance said. “So- okay, um, just… lean against the pillar. Don’t look at him, just, stare toward the bar.”

He didn’t want to be coy, but Lance actually seemed to have a stable trajectory for this, so Keith followed the orders, anyway. The stone of the pillar was cool to the touch, even through the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Okay, now cross your arms,” Lance said. “Look, like, how you normally look.”

“You just told me to stop crossing my arms,” Keith muttered. 

“I- well- whatever! Stop talking, look at the bar, and now like,” Lance paused. “So don’t look directly at the guy, just, from the corner of your eye, make sure he’s looking at you. And stop _talking_ if he’s watching you you’ll look like you’re talking to air.”

Sure enough, the reptile alien was watching him, if unsubtly. Keith grimaced. He tried not to, but he couldn’t, so he hid it by glaring at the bar. The alien at least seemed unfazed, gaze still lingering back to Keith.

“This is weird, I don’t normally think these things through,” Lance said.

He set himself up for a comeback Keith couldn’t respond to. Keith bit the inside of his own lip, pinched expression transfixed on the bar. 

Their mark hadn’t moved, his hat shadowing his expression; he’d tapped gingerly on the counter of the bar, and the tender poured another drink into his cup. He leaned against the bar with two of his arms, holding two glasses in the other. Again, a good argument for the utility of four arms.

“Okay, well, I guess look over to him and, uh, make eye contact,” Lance said, bringing Keith back to the current target. “But like, you have to invite him to come talk to you with a look- like- nod your head, or- no no, that won’t work.”

As Lance continued blabbering about the correct beckoning technique, Keith turned toward the alien and tried not to grimace. It was a struggle, to look like he wanted to be here, but whatever softening of his own expression he managed seemed to work. He watched the lizard alien from his peripheral vision, his gaze not leaving Keith. 

Unfortunately, it seemed, Lance’s plan caught fire too quickly. He’d caught the attention of the lizard alien, but he’d caught the attention of their mark as well. Lance was still talking about how to get the alien to come over, as the wrong alien sauntered over. Keith tried to subtly flick his ear, scratching the back of his neck and knocking into the commlink along the way. 

So much for practice. 

“Hey, I told you not to- oh! Oh, you did it, he’s coming over here,” Lance said. “Huh. Wow.”

Lance seemed too flummoxed to realize this was the wrong alien; Keith wanted to smack the commlink again, but it wouldn’t be natural. 

He did it anyway, hoping to pass it off as a casual head scratch. 

“Ke _ith_ don’t flick the comms, I know this is practice, but- wait, wait wait wait, is that our _mark_?”

Lance’s babbling subsided as their mark said, “You don’t look like you’re enjoying this gig.”

Keith frowned; his tactic hadn’t been as effective as he’d hoped, if he was starting with that. “I think I can help you with that,” their mark continued with a wink.

“Uh,” said Keith. “Sure.”

“That’s such a cheesy line, he should- ugh- okay, at least he’s interested, I , just, do something,” said Lance. The line wasn’t any better than any of Lance’s, not to mention how unhelpful “just do something” was as advice. 

“I’m Stysor, and you are…?” 

“My name’s-” Keith started. 

“Don’t say your actual name!”

“...Lance.” He meant it to be a reprimand to Lance, but it could work as his name too.

The alien smiled at him, but Lance fell silent over the comms. It worried Keith that the comms had gone dead, until he heard a hint of pained, stifled laughter. Lance must’ve moved away from the mic, as the sound was extremely muted. 

“So what brings you here, Lance?”

Lance wasn’t away from the comms; Keith could hear his peals of laughter now, loud and clear. 

“I’m not here because I want to be,” Keith answered, honest but vague. He didn’t remember the long, contrived excuse Lance had prompted him. But Lance was still laughing, and he couldn’t ask him _now_ , so he had to think of something. “But I could change my mind.” 

Keith immediately started sweating; he felt as though he was in too deep already, and he hadn’t even got to the mark yet. Lance’s laughing had stopped dead, and Keith frowned.

Stysor seemed to buy it, though, smiling wide, one eyebrow raised. “Is that so?” he said.

“Yeah,” Keith said. “Sure,” he said. Where was Lance to save him here? This was Lance’s whole job, but Lance was still quiet on the comm.

“Well Lance,” said Stysor in a low tone. His smile was kind of wonderful; his cheeks dimpled easily and it reached his eyes. His eyes were that bright violet from the photographs, but in person they were even more strangely beautiful. Keith realised he’d leaned in without noticing. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Keith froze. Lance still seemed to be M.I.A. He cleared his throat loudly.

The comm suddenly staticked into life; Keith struggled to stop himself from cringing at the noise.

“Um,” said Lance, sounding a bit choked. “Tell him your name.”

“I did that already,” growled Keith, annoyed.

Stysor raised both eyebrows and pulled his head back, eyeing Keith with a look.

“Keith, you said that outloud!” Lance hissed through the comm.

Keith’s mouth fell open, trying to figure out how to save the situation. Lance was doing so badly - that was unlike him. He usually had too much to say, not too little.

“So a man of mystery then?” asked Stysor, that same low tone in his voice. 

He was about the same age as Keith, maybe a year older max. In the short span of his life, he’d graduated from an engineering apprenticeship, worked at an elite galactic corporation, and quit to work as a freelancer in the slightly shady engineering speciality of booby traps. Booby traps Hunk and Shiro had ran into, and needed help out of. Despite the situation, Keith was still somewhat impressed by how far Stysor had gotten in life so far. 

Although, he supposed he himself was a defender of the universe.

“He’s interested, that’s- that’s _good_ ,” said Lance, though he made it sound like it was the opposite of good. This didn’t bode well for Keith, as “that’s good” wasn’t helpful advice at all. 

He’d just have to go with what worked earlier- vague truthiness. He furrowed his brow for a moment, in what he thought was a pretty good caricature of his own unintentionally surly bearing. He shrugged, “I’ve got to be cautious, you know.”

Lance whined loud in his comms, and while the pitch strained Keith’s ears, he was glad at least Lance seemed to be providing some kind of feedback. “-Don’t say that! He likes the mystery!”

To his surprise- and Lance’s too- Stysor laughed, a soft chuckle hidden behind one of his hands. It was bashful, and almost shy, how he diverted his gaze just for a moment. His wide crooked smile came back fast, though, as he moved his hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I can’t trust these stiffs with anything either,” he said, leaning almost uncomfortably close to Keith’s face. Almost. “Been working with ‘em long enough to know that they’d sell all your secrets for half a pesh.”

“...or not,” Lance said, dejected voice reverberating in Keith’s ear. After a pause, he added quickly, “But- but we’re supposed to be _getting_ information. You’re not going to get anything out of him if both of you are super suspicious.”

Lance was right; this wasn’t going to get anywhere if they were at an information stalemate. 

“Tell him that he’s- not a stiff, or something, so that he can trust you and you can trust him- let me think of a better phrase-”

He couldn’t wait for the exact wording; instead, Keith tried the first thought that came to his mind. Motioning toward Stysor’s hat, he said, “You don’t exactly fit in with the rest of them.” 

“… yup, exactly like that,” Lance sighed. 

“I’m an engineer at a diplomats’ gig,” Stysor said with a smile. A nugget of information shared, but it wasn’t of any use to Keith. He already knew that. Stysor held up two of his arms, the two holding glasses. “Honestly, I came for the free drinks, wasn’t expecting any good company from this sort of joint. Even if you are being terribly _cautious_.” He winked and unless something strange was happening to the comm, Keith was pretty sure Lance growled in response.

“That’s good,” Lance said slowly. “Now tell him something about yourself. Like- well, don’t go with the diplomat backstory, he’s not going to like _that_. ”

Keith met Stysor’s gaze, feeling too nervous to make up something detailed on the spot. “I’m a cargo pilot,” he said. It could be a decent fake occupation; he had enough piloting experience to work the story.

Lance’s disapproval couldn’t be more evident, whining pitifully. “You can’t be serious,” Lance said, stretching out the word “serious” as long as he could. “Please, Keith, don’t-”

Much to Keith’s surprise, Stysor didn’t react as well as he’d anticipated. He frowned a bit, fingers tapping on one of the glasses. “Really? That seems a bit… boring,” he said. “You don’t seem boring.”

Lance let out a tiny and pathetic wounded animal noise. Keith felt his chest tighten. There was nothing wrong with being a cargo pilot really. Who was this _engineer_ to tell him that cargo pilots were boring? He had probably never even been as deep into space as some cargo pilots had been. That was just rude - what if Keith had been really offended? It was just - no way to talk to people.

Stysor seemed to see the look on Keith’s face and raised a disdainful eyebrow. He patted Keith’s arm condescendingly, and Keith stared at the spot where he had touched him. “It’s a compliment,” he said. “I’m saying you don’t look like a typical cargo pilot.”

Lance let out a final sad sigh, and Keith blew out. _Sorry, Lance._

The pause stretched, and Lance sighed, then told Keith what to say. Keith tried not to smile at the line prematurely. As bad at Lance could be at comebacks, there were always occasions that Lance impressed him. 

“I never said what the cargo _was_. ”

And just like that, they were back on track. Keith thanked Lance silently as Stysor laughed, hiding a toothy grin under the rim of his hat. When he moved the cap away, Keith could see that his eyes crinkled in the corners in the same almost bashful look of before.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Lance said, some life back in his voice. “That’s _great._ ”

Lance’s peevish pettiness came back on track too. Every step forward in flirting made for two steps sideways in Lance’s mood. They were making progress, and yet any progress made would be impeded by a bitter remark, followed by a saccharine one.

Stysor offered a drink- he had finished his, and Keith commented that it would be easier for him to get the drinks because of the practicality of four hands. Lance sing-songed “the practicality of four hands” into the comms, and Keith tried to keep his expression pleasant until Stysor turned away.

Keith hissed down the comm as Stysor walked over to the bar to grab the drinks.

“Stop being so _jealous_ ,” he muttered, knowing Lance could never resist a pretty face. “You’ve got to help me out here. Forget about wanting to be in my shoes.”

There was a moment of silence over the comm, then some kind of squeal broke the line. It sounded like a wounded baby deer. Keith crossed his arms and leant back against the pillar a little more aggressively than he had to.

When Stysor came back he forced a tight smile and took the drink that was offered to him, deciding to take Lance’s lack of response as an agreement to Keith’s sentiment.

There was a crackle on the line as Lance came back to life, and began feeding him lines again. The bitterness from before seemed abated, toned down to an ignorable snort or huff every now and then.

After a while, they fell back into a comfortable exchange, Keith relieved by the easy way Lance quickly responded to each of Stysor’s increasingly flirtatious advances.

At least half an hour, three more potent and neon green drinks, and more arm touches than Keith could keep track of in his accelerated rate of inebriation, later, Lance suddenly came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh,” he breathed through the comm.

Keith smiled at Stysor to cover up his immediate reaction to try and respond to Lance. He was pretty sure Stysor’s face hadn’t been that close before but it was a neutral sort of awareness, through a haze of some kind. He hiccoughed and chuckled once.

He heard Lance make some kind of dry-mouthed noise through the comm, and fought the urge to laugh with Lance at the situation. He may be drunk - maybe - but he was still a professional damn it.

“Uh, Keith,” came Lance’s voice, jarringly sober to Keith’s woozy brain.

Keith breathed, “What?”, his eyes reviewing Stysor’s face, especially his bright, bright eyes.

Lance made a frustrated noise, while Stysor raised an eyebrow.

“He wants you to kiss him, Keith,” Lance hissed.

In an instant, Keith felt the shock of Lance’s words hit him, and in almost the same moment, Stysor leaned all the way in and Keith felt the shock of his lips on his own.

He felt surprisingly calm as he brought his hands up to Stysor’s jaw, and Stysor pulled Keith closer from the hip with one set of hands. The other set of hands stroked his back and it was not unpleasant.

Keith responded by throwing an arm over Stysor’s shoulder. He hadn’t realised how easy it was to kiss someone you weren’t interested in when you were drunk and they were attractive. He wondered if this was how Lance did it. Or maybe Lance was somehow just overflowing with some magical kind of appreciation for others that meant he really was interested in all those people.

He wouldn’t be surprised.

He leaned into the kiss a bit harder, and thought about what Lance would have done if he had been able to go on the mission, and Keith had been the one left in the castleship. Keith wouldn’t even have known what was going on since Lance could flirt all by himself. Stysor grinned into the kiss but Keith furrowed his brow.

A moment later, there was a disgusted whimper echoing in Keith’s ears, then nothing echoed at all, as the comms had cut dead.

Keith slammed his hands on Stysor’s chest, terminating the kiss instantaneously.

Stysor pulled two of his arms away from Keith in worry, though two still lingered at his waist, looking at Keith apprehensively. He tried to ask a question but Keith just shook his head; he was trying to listen out. He spent more than a moment staring into nothing, waiting and hoping for the comms to come back.

They did not.

“Excuse me,” he said, feeling ashen with concern, “I have to go - and vomit.”

Keith didn’t wait for Stysor’s response as he made his wobbly way to the nearest exit.

He found his way through some ornate double doors, into the plush foyer he’d entered the hall from. There was still no response from Lance, and Keith’s mind darted through a million different scenarios at once.

“Lance,” he hissed panickedly. “Lance, pick up. Lance.”

He had no idea why Lance had cut the commlink, and the trajectory of his own thoughts shot from one bad place to the next bigger and badder place, like a game of connect the dots. Lance had to be in range of the planet not to break the commlink- had he been pulled out of range? Maybe he’d been tracked down, and carted off like Shiro and Hunk had been.

That wouldn’t make sense- they’d been trapped, and not taken, but it wasn’t like being taken wasn’t a possibility. Or it was a possibility, and a high one. Scenarios played out rapid-fire, regardless of the statistics. He paced the foyer, and Lance had been shot from ten feet. He noticed the strange looks some doormen were giving him, and Lance was being tied up that very moment, beaten and bruised. He punched the wall and Lance had been strangled from behind.

“Lance, come back.”

A moment later, the comm crackled and Keith batted the wall with his fist in relief.

“Oh,” said Lance. “You’re done.”

Keith made a strangled noise and began to angrily murmur to Lance, “I left as soon as you comm’d out. Where did you go? What the hell, Lance? I needed you.”

Keith heard Lance’s breath hitch.

“Lance?” he asked, quieter.

“Well you messed it up, mullet,” muttered Lance. “You’re supposed to kiss him and be all suave and then he’ll give you all his information.”

Keith leant back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. It was sparkly; it looked as though if glitter were a rock, then that’s what this was made from. He let himself slip down the wall and sit on the floor, knees tucked under his chin.

“Sorry, carg- Lance,” he sighed, a soft smile making its way onto his face. “You would’ve been much better at this I think.” Keith felt a tug in his stomach at the thought.

Lance let out a short puff of air. “Well, obviously,” he said. “Where is he now? Where are you? You’re not in the hall anymore.”

Keith shrugged. “I panicked a bit I think.”

“You panicked?” There was the edge of a laugh on Lance’s words, and Keith was pleased to hear a grin.

“I’m a little bit tipsy, and I thought you had been…” Keith paused, unsure how to finish the sentence. He didn’t want to think about it now that he knew Lance was OK. “Anyway, I don’t know what I thought, but I had to get away.”

There was a soft silence from Lance’s end.

“What did you tell him?”

“I-” Keith thought about it. He slapped a hand against his forehead, sinking further down. “Oh man, I told him I had to go and vomit.”

There was another pause, and then an explosion of laughter.

“Right after you kissed?” Lance choked through the whoops of hilarity.

Keith grinned despite the embarrassment. “Yeah,” he said, a chuckle slipping through. An image of Shiro and Hunk flashed guiltily in his mind, and the reality came crashing down on him. “I can’t believe this. I’ve ruined everything.”

Lance calmed down to one last giggle.

“No,” he said. “Nah, if I know you, Keith, you’ll be fine. The guy totally looked into you. And you’re drunk right?”

Keith nodded miserably, but felt a little more soothed after hearing Lance’s gameplan.

He hurried back inside the hall, and found Stysor again.

“Hey,” cried the blue man, raising two arms. “There you are.”

Keith nodded awkwardly.

“Uh,” he said, feeling a lot more sober than he had done when had been kissing this alien just ten minutes ago. “I - I’m really not feeling well, I’ve got to get back to my ship - my cargo ship. But - can I meet you again?”

Stysor contemplated Keith for a moment; his expression unreadable.

“Sure,” he said. “Here,” and he pulled a small cloth patch from one of his blazer pockets, and handed it to Keith. “You can find me here.”

Keith stared at the cloth. On it was written some kind of address; Keith presumed the nearby castleship was translating the symbols for him - though they were still incomprehensible as words to him. Hopefully Coran would understand.

“See you later, cargo pilot,” said Stysor, and Keith looked up to see him drift back into the crowd.

“Later,” he repeated, as Lance muttered darkly into the comm.

* * *

Keith couldn’t get much of a word in with Lance, no matter how much he wanted to. When he got back to the castleship, everything was still fuzzy around the edges. He didn’t even remember to give Coran the cloth for translation, until he was nearly fast asleep on one of the castleship’s couches. After Coran had taken the cloth, Keith went from nearly asleep on the castleship’s couches, to dead asleep. 

He wasn’t a heavy sleeper, though, and the rickety sound of wheels woke him up. Blinking the remaining fuzziness out of his eyes, Keith tried to find the source of the noise. 

“Keith- hey, Keith-” someone said over him, nudging on his shoulder gently. Keith turned over, to face the noise. Now, he could see the source of the rickety wheels, Lance’s wheelchair, and the source of the voice, a startled Lance. 

“You’re already up,” said Lance, voice now sharper, as if hiding embarrassment. 

Keith waved a lazy hand in front of him, then sat up on the couch. “Um, yeah,” he said. He squinted at Lance, who looked more tired than Keith felt. His hair stuck up in the back, and he kept rubbing at his eyes, as if that would make the etched lines under them go away.

A pause closed around them, and Lance interrupted it. ““We have to get to the mission briefing,” he said. “Coran figured out the cloth… thing Stysor gave you. He thinks we can probably get in touch with Stysor today, so we’ll be on another mission.”

Looking warily at Lance’s tired, drawn out expression, Keith said pointedly, “Are you _actually_ going to be on the comms this time?”

Lance bristled, his expression tense. His hand was stiff, even as he waved it around. “Yeah, sure, you really didn’t need to freak out last time- I- just...”

“You got quiet, of course I freaked out,” Keith said. “I like you, and I…” 

Pausing, Keith’s breath hitched; he only just realized the potential gravity of his statement. He hadn’t meant it that way but- it’s not that it wasn’t true. He just hadn’t thought about it before. It would explain why he didn’t really want to kiss Stysor, despite his objective allure. It explained a lot of things-- too many things. 

Keith looked up at Lance, his expression frustratingly unreadable. At first, Lance’s eyebrows pinched in confusion, and then, he had the air of someone who’d just smelt a terrible, terrible scent. Lance had said nothing, in Keith’s pause. 

Shaking his head, Keith continued, “Shiro and Hunk are already captured, it wasn’t.. unreasonable to think you could be, too.”

Despite his embarrassment, Keith continued to probe Lance for a reaction; Lance couldn’t quite look at him. Instead, his gaze found the side of the wall, and his hand had found the back of his neck.

The moment passed, and Lance shook his head. “I’ll be fine, they’d have to take down the whole castleship to get to me,” Lance said. “I can still pilot Blue!”

He seemed to read the mood, now, and he added, with some levity, “Probably.”

Then, Lance waved a loose hand, pointing in the general direction of the door. He said, “C’mon, we do really have to get to the meeting.”

When the two of them arrived at the briefing room, Allura, Coran, and Pidge all surrounding the cloth Stysor had given Keith. Coran seemed to be in a long-winded conversation with nonsense bits and bobs of details Keith couldn’t figure out. Even if he wasn’t at the tail-end of the conversation, he didn’t think he would be able to figure it out. 

Pidge didn’t seem to have a problem with it, though. She had the cloth in her hands, turning it over and nodding as Coran spoke.

“So it’s like a radio wave,” Pidge said, looking at the symbols on the cloth. Her expression pinched, and Keith thought he knew why. It felt like something Hunk would say, and it just reminded them why they needed to figure out this radio wave in the first place. 

“Oh! Well, no. Not quite, it’s just an anachronism that it’s called a radio frequency, the transmissions are actually-”

“But it’s like a radio frequency,” Keith said, cutting Coran. Lance knocked him on the shoulder, giving Keith a look lodged between disapproving and amused. 

“It functions very similarly to a radio frequency- it’s a very discrete method of communication, in fact, I’m glad to know it’s still around! We used to mess with the old modulator on base when we were just cadets-”

“So it’s a super secret phone number,” Lance said. 

Before Coran could ask what, exactly, was a phone, Keith said quickly, “-then I’ll call him, ad schedule us a date.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Lance grimace.

* * *

It took Keith a while to find the cafe he’d set up. The place was hidden in a labyrinth of a city, buildings tall and carved out of ice. The blue ice shimmered around, and it would be pretty, had it not been so infuriatingly unnavigable. 

The cafe was as close to Hunk and Shiro as Coran could find. The planet Hunk and Shiro were captured on wasn’t entirely under Galra control- in fact, not much of it was at all. There was only one base, hidden in the enclaves of the tundra. And this cafe resided in the closest city to the base. 

“I swear, it’s actually this building,” Lance said, as Keith hesitated by the door. “I’m looking at the, uh, writing, and I think that says Cold Brew Bar?”

It was enough; it wasn’t like he couldn’t barge out as fast as he barged in. Keith opened the door, the handle still icy-cold under his grip despite his mittens. It glided open, thunking against the opposite wall with a clobber. 

A hush fell inside the cafe, its occupants eyeing Lance with more derision than caution. 

“Always have to make an entrance,” Lance muttered. 

Rolling his eyes, Keith entered the cafe and closed the ice door behind him. It clicked shut, and as fast as the people in the cafe found him interesting, they found him boring. 

Keith could understand why; there were more interesting things to look at. The center of the cafe looked more like a glass worker’s shop than a coffee shop. Thin glass tubes ran from the ceiling to the decanters on the counter, dark liquid flowing through them. The baristas at the counter would tap on them for show, the clinging of the glass matching the cafe’s music. 

When he looked away from the center, the spectacle ended. The distractions of the coffee machines drew his eyes away from the edges of the cafe, where all the real conversation happened. In the concaves of the the walls, hushed conversations smoke-screened by dingy lighting remained hidden. He could only hear half a conversation from the nearest corner, but he was pretty sure it dealt with illegal matters, even if he wasn’t familiar with the laws and ordinances of this planet. 

“What kind of- of shady space bar serves coffee,” Lance groaned into the comms, and Keith rolled his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you like coffee.”

Keith scoffed, and ordered two coffees, making up the order as he went along. The barista, a cat-like alien with rectangular eyes like a goat’s, humored his trailing order. By the end, he had two hot cups of dark roast coffee the barista had complimented as being “adventurous.” He found a table in the corner, hidden but with a good view of the door, and set both the drinks down.

“I don’t want to watch you drink that, gross,” said Lance, and Keith took a petulant sip of one of the coffees. He tried to swallow, but the bitter and slightly _sour_ taste got stuck in the back of his throat. Hacking, Keith stared at the cup in front of him, then switched it with the coffee he’d ordered for Stysor. 

Lance cackled over the comms, and Keith poked at his new cup of coffee. “Yeah yeah, you’re right, I’m wrong,” Keith said, “Alien coffee’s gross.”

“You think you can keep being charming when you’re-” Lance paused, laughing at his own incoming joke, “Maybe spitting up coffee will work, he bought the vomit line.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith reprimanded, but it was without bite. He smiled just slightly, then poked at his coffee again, watching it move around in his cup.

“Quit looking at the coffee, I don’t want to see that. No one wants to see that,” Lance said. After a beat of pause, he added, “He should be here any minute now.”

Lance was right; only a couple minutes later, Stysor entered the cafe, in his signature hat and bundled just as warmly as Keith was. He opened the door with more finesse than Keith had, but lingered in the doorway, scanning the room. 

He found Keith’s table easily, tipping his hat up as he did.

“Lance,” he said. Keith stared at him with furrowed brows, taking a tick to realize Stysor was still referring to him.

“Hey,” Keith said. He motioned to the other side of the table, “I got you a… I got you a drink.”

Stysor smiled easily, but hadn’t sat down. He leaned on the table with two of his arms, eyebrows raised at Keith. His eyes didn’t quite meet Keith’s, hitting lower than that. Knowing Stysor wanted something, he shuffled out of his chair, not bothering to push it back under the table. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Keith said, hugging Stysor with one arm. Despite his earlier appreciation of four arms being practical, it made for a very impractical hug. Frost still hung on Stysor’s coat as well, dusting Keith’s hand in cold, melting ice. 

Brushing off his own hand, Keith motioned again to the table with his chin, and they both sat back down. Stysor eyed his coffee, wearing a pinched smile. From the right angle, it could even be a frown. 

Despite how much Keith couldn’t stand the coffee, Stysor seemed to enjoy it. He took languid sips, leaning back in his chair. It balanced on the back feet, and Stysor made it seem easy. Then, he set the coffee down, leaned the seat back down, and leaned over the table himself.

His elbows hit the table, and Keith leaned back on instinct. “So what do you really want?” Stysor asked; Keith couldn’t get a read on his expression. His mouth was set in a straight line, and any other crease on his face was ironed out.

“I know you’re lying about something,” Stysor continued. He rapped two fingers on the lip of his cup. “You’re no cargo pilot.”

“I told you-” Keith started, but was cut off.

“-I knew something was up, so I checked the guest registry. It only had diplomats and maybe the occasional technocrat, but no mystery cargo pilots.”

Keith looked to the door; it wasn’t far. Worse comes to worse, he tossed his coffee at Stysor and made a break for it. “I…” Keith said, trying and failing to fill in the space of conversation. 

“He’s figured us out, okay- tell him you’re a- a plus one to the event, or you snuck in for some drinks, or that they wouldn’t have that in the registry-” Lance rambled, panic evident in his voice. Then, he paused, and added with an creak, “Wait- wait, actually, tell him the truth.”

Keith didn’t say anything; he blinked owlishly at his own coffee. Lance hadn’t given him bad excuses- he could work with them, but the laying all the cards on the table still made him pause.

“I mean it,” Lance said, with resolute certainty. “It worked the first time.”

Toying with the handle of his coffee cup, Keith nodded, more for Lance than anyone else. “You’re right,” he said to Stysor, then leaned back and crossed his arms. Lance sighed over the comms. “My friends got stuck in one of your traps, and I need to get them out.”

Stysor’s poker face turned into a frown, brows furrowing and expression all too serious. “I may not be a stiff, but I’m a professional with a reputation to uphold. I’m not going to break a _contract_.”

“Even if your contract was with the _Galra Empire_?” 

Keith hadn’t realized how much louder he’d gotten toward the end. The cafe had quieted, by the time he’d finished his sentence, and Lance was choking over the comms. Everyone in the cafe seemed to find the conversation much more interesting, and Stysor- Stysor looked ashamed. Keith leaned back in his chair, just as Stysor had before, smug.

The interest from the other cafe occupants didn’t last long. Soon, a barista clanged on a decanter pipe, and murmured conversation returned. Keith could still hear Lance’s worried muttering over the comms, though he didn’t speak out. He hoped that Lance had a way out of this conversation. Stysor hid his expression under his hat, fingers tapping rapidly on the lip of his cup. 

Only when the noisiness truly returned, did he respond.

“Oh,” he said. “ _That_ job.”

Stysor tapped on the coffee cup, slowly now. “It’s not easy to build a resume, and it was my first official contract, I didn’t want…”

Keith leaned forward, response bubbling up before he could help himself. He wanted to say something- lots of things. How could he prioritize his own _resume_ over the destruction the Galra caused? Stysor set up boobytraps- it’s not like those could be used for un-nefarious purposes. But before he could say anything, Lance was berating him over the comms. 

“Let him think- just, just give him a minute before you _actually_ ruin this.”

Biting his tongue, Keith complied, but still gave Stysor a cross look.

Stysor took off his hat, setting it on the table. He leaned forward over it, and he wore a serious expression, one that matched Keith’s own. “Whatever you and your _friends_ are planning, I want in. I’ll get them out, and help you clear up this mess.”

Lance sighed in relief over the comms, and Keith felt himself relax, too. “We’ll get them out and clean up _your_ mess,” Keith said. 

Stysor laughed, the same laugh as when they’d met; easy and guilt-free. His smile met his eyes again, but Keith didn’t appreciate it as much as before. “Right, right,” he said, waving a hand around. “ _We’ll_ clean up _my_ mess.” 

“That was- that was easy,” Lance said. Letting out a slow breath, he added, “Good work.”

Keith smiled, which Stysor seemed to think was for him. “Thanks,” he said, and Stysor smiled again. 

Stysor sipped at his coffee, conversation stopping. Keith followed suit, sniffing at the roast he’d picked up for Stysor originally. It was just a random selection of orders he didn’t understand, and he hoped it turned out better than the last one. 

Sipping at it, he was relieved to find that it had. It was a dark roast of coffee, apparently very potent, but not very bitter at all. In fact, it didn’t taste like much of anything. The more he drank of it, the harder it was to swallow. 

He finished it, eventually, long after Stysor had finished his own cup.

“So tell me, Lance,” Stysor said, one hand on the table and another scratching the back of his neck. “Do you actually like me?”

“He’s on our side anyway,” Lance said. He made a poor attempt at hiding his own misery, his voice whining at the end. “What’s even the point of answering?” 

Keith didn’t want to answer either of them. Still, Stysor probed for an answer. Keith finally stopped dodging his gaze, and shrugged. “You’ll find out,” he said.

Stysor smiled wide, standing up and pushing his chair under the table. “We should go find your friends, then,” Stysor said, gesturing to Keith. After a moment, Keith pushed his chair under the table with much more gusto. 

“Right,” Keith said. “Let’s get out of here.”

They both left the cafe, into the cold tundra city outside. It nipped at the exposed bits of Keith’s face, and he was almost sure Stysor turned even more blue. 

“You’ll find out, you’ll find out,” Lance muttered. “What kind of answer is you’ll find out?”

* * *

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Keith wouldn’t have been able to even walk near the traps without Stysor’s guidance. The Galra base carved into the tundra, and while security forces were lax, the base made up for it in traps and mazes. 

Keith followed Stysor’s nimble footsteps, as he explained the mechanics of the traps. Some would set off alarms- others, avalanches, flooding corridors with an inescapable influx of snow. It all seemed too complicated, and too over the top, but both of those facts served to intimidate anyone from approaching. 

As Stysor deactivated another trap, a heat-activated panel easily mitigated with some precise electronics, Keith gave it a long and disapproving look. They were in a maze of the base, and nowhere near the avalanche-turn-shielded-prison that had caught Hunk and Shiro, but they’d already had to sidestep so many booby traps. 

After another string of navigating booby traps, Stysor led them both to a nook in the tundra cave. Under closer inspection, the wall wasn’t made of ice, but of complicated levers, each cold, blue, and intimidatingly confusing.

Stysor’d set all these up, and they’d lasted this long- he couldn’t have had any disillusions about who, and what, he was helping. 

Knocking a shoulder into Keith, Stysor appeased, “It’s less complicated than it looks- they don’t need to know if you have a bigger bark than your bite.”

“ _You_ have a bigger bark than your bite,” Lance grumbled, and Keith managed to aim the resulting smile at Stysor. 

Stysor smiled back, and clamped a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Your friends should be around the corner,” he said. When Keith jerked his head to look, the grip on his shoulder tightened. “There’s too many guards-- I can say I’m doing maintenance, and they’ll let me pass-”

“You don’t even know what they look like,” Keith argued purposelessly. 

“-and you need to stay here. There’s a manual override for an avalanche trap up ahead, and unless you want your crew in a snowdrift forever-”

Keith moved with purpose toward Stysor, but the ground further down the hall creaked intimidatingly. Keith snapped his gaze down the hall, expecting Stysor to as well, but he pulled one of the levers behind Keith. It had turned up as Keith moved, without him catching it.

“-you have to stay here, and make sure all of those levers stay down.”

Keith gaped, balance teetering, but gaze still set, angrily, on Stysor. 

“Don’t let the guards hear you,” Stysor said, and with something of a smile, bound down the hall. Two of the levers threatened to upturn themselves, and Keith pushed them back down.

When he turned back to yell at Stysor, he’d already disappeared from his sight. Fuming, Keith slammed the next lever down, and it clanged as he did.

“I don’t think it’s a trap,” Lance said. He didn’t sound as certain as Keith would’ve liked, but it managed to calm his frustration. “But wow, now you _actually_ can’t talk.”

Keith could see his own breath. It puffed in front of him, his only notable movement in the icy corridor. Footsteps echoed along the narrow walls, and Keith remained unhappily plastered against the wall. 

Don’t let the guards hear you, Stysor had said, and Keith glared at the wall across from him.

Despite Keith not being able to talk, Lance seemed to want to make up for it. “Like, unlike every time before, when you couldn’t respond, and you responded anyway.”

More footsteps echoed along the halls, but they echoed quieter and quieter. 

“That’s kind of disappointing,” Lance said.

Keith’s own breath calmed, no longer a dramatic fog of cold air in front of him. The footsteps had passed, and so had the guard. 

“This whole thing has been really disappointing,” Lance continued. “And not just because you get to flirt and I don’t. You’re only like… kind of good at flirting, I’m still way better, and Stysor’s a huge jerk, so it wouldn’t have been fun anyway.”

The pause stretched, and it seemed almost meaningful- like something could come from Lance’s break in speech.

“And cowboy hats are lame,” Lance added.

Lance paused again; Keith could tell some kind of trailing, horrible thought was forming in Lance’s head, as the pause wasn’t silent. Lance hemmed and hawed through it, making sure to be as noisy as he possibly could. He couldn’t tell if it would be a serious thought, or another childish insult. With Lance, either one seemed probable.

“I thought the worst part of this whole thing would be you not needing me… I mean, my advice at all, and you’d just- waltz in, woo the guy, and leave. And that was kind of wrong, you’re not _bad_ but you also kissed someone and said you needed to vomit afterward.”

One of the levers pulled itself upright, and Keith gently nudged it back down, eyeing the hallway behind him. Lance still hadn’t said what the worst part was.

“Which was kind of great, but...”

None of the levers moved, and conversation didn’t move, either. Lance sighed, loud and clear over the comms. It was loud enough Keith could imagine how it’d look in the cold, an obvious puff of cold foggy breath.

“I can’t believe you like that guy. That’s the worst part. I mean, I...” A lone beat passed, the Lance said in a frustrated rush, “I like you!”

One of the levers moved up, and Keith tried to catch it, but he fumbled. This wasn’t making sense. He stared at the lever, all comprehension dead. It wasn’t like Keith hadn’t _already_ tried to talk to Lance about this, and for Lance to have the absolute worst timing- blinking rapidly, he remembered he needed to pull the lever. He gripped it, cold between his fingers, and yanked it down. 

“-and I thought this would be fine!” Lance rambled over Keith’s panic. “You’d just think I’m being jealous about the mission, but then you _figured it out_ , and still flirted with the guy, and now you’re like, on a cool secret mission with him, and-”

Something crashed, and Lance’s rambling turned into a single, squabbling yell of Keith’s name. 

Not caring about the levers anymore, as useless and counterproductive as they were, Keith threw himself out of the cranny and into the hallway. Down the hall, he could see Stysor, holding onto his hat with one of his hands, with two figures trailing him. 

As soon as Keith could see that the two figures were indeed Shiro and Hunk, he could see a quickly descending rumble of snow behind them; all the levers in the override had turned up, so the snow came tumbling down.

* * *

The four of them had managed to get out of the base- but just by the skin of their necks. It was just close enough of a call, that Keith didn’t have to pretend to be pleasant with Stysor, and he didn’t have to pretend to be pleasant when he got back to the ship, either.

Keith felt himself propelled by anger through the castleship. He wasn’t going to allow Lance time to breathe, not after that performance.

He stormed through rooms, slamming the doors open as he flew through.

“Lance!” he cried as he went. “Lance, get back here!”

Eventually he came to that small lounge he and Lance had shared a heart-to-heart in before. He paused by it in the corridor, glaring at the door, before deciding to throw it open.

Sure enough, Lance was lying on one of the too-small couches, leg propped up awkwardly on the opposite arm rest. He seemed to be wheezing as he breathed, and cringed especially hard when Keith burst in.

Keith stopped, feeling all his burning rage dissipate as he saw Lance. Lance, safe and soft and - Lance.

“You’re lying on your broken ribs,” he noted, the crease in his brow easing.

Lance shrugged, wincing some more.

Keith rolled his eyes, and pulled Lance up into a seated position, gently resting his broken limb on the wheelchair. He looked up at Lance from where he was crouched by his legs.

“Don’t - ever - do something so _stupid_ again,” Keith said, staring up at Lance, who refused to look him in the eye. Lance shrugged. “I can’t believe you would be so reckless and annoying - you nearly cost me the mission from being such a - a butthead.”

Lance looked at him then, mouth creating an ‘O’ shape in his outrage. Keith interrupted him before he could start trying to defend himself.

“Why did you tell me that _then_? Why then, Lance? When you had the perfect chance to tell me before.”

Lance’s brow furrowed, and he threw Keith a look of irritation.

“What?”

Keith let out an agitated noise, and placed a hand on Lance’s thigh in exasperation.

“I thought we - But I told you that. Lance, I like you.”

Lance turned to him in genuine shock. For a moment, he had nothing to say.

“But,” he eventually settled on. “You did?”

“Yes,” sighed Keith. “I did. You don’t remember?”

Lance seemed to be trying to hold back the small smile that was on his face, and Keith grinned in response. His heart beat fast.

“You like me?” Lance repeated.

Keith lightly punched his leg. “How many times do you want me to say it?” he beamed, resting his forearm across Lance’s thigh.

“You like me, and not the stinky alien guy?” Lance said, looking thoughtful. Keith propped his chin on the arm he’d laid Lance’s leg, and made a show of pondering.

“He actually smelled quite nice,” he said.

Lance grimaced.

“But no - not him. You.”

“Oh right.”

Keith tried to read Lance’s expression, which revealed nothing to him. Keith fought the urge to pull away; knowing Lance was prone to indecipherable thought processes, but that he had told Keith he liked him. So Keith chose to believe that reality.

“What is it?” he asked instead of extricating himself from Lance.

“Well,” Lance looked slightly abashed. “You kissed him.”

Keith did draw back then. But - he liked Lance. Stysor had just been a mark; it had been his job. But then he remembered how fiercely he had kissed Stysor - every time he imagined Lance in the same situation. He guessed he could understand. It wasn’t jealousy - but maybe Lance had really been convinced that he liked Stysor.

He got up from his crouch, and looked down at Lance, who had one eyebrow raised in questioning.

“He was just a mark,” he said. Then without thinking about it too much leaned down to kiss Lance.

He had intended it to be a short kiss, but as soon as lips touched lips, Keith realised he was kissing Lance. For the first time.

Lance also seemed to realise immediately - maybe even this was what he had planned from the beginning. But he grabbed Keith’s shoulder and pulled him closer. Keith smiled and brought both his hands up to Lance’s jaw, stroking round to the nape of his neck. Lance laughed into the kiss but it didn’t break it; instead making it deeper, as Keith took advantage of Lance’s open mouth.

Lance leaned his head back as Keith placed one knee on the couch next to Lance, who placed a confident hand at Keith’s waist.

After a short while, the making out calmed down, and Lance pulled away from Keith, who let himself sink into the couch. His cheeks felt red hot.

“Is that…?” he asked after a moment of self-conscious silence between them.

Lance shifted so he was facing Keith, one leg tucked under himself, as the other continued to lay in front of him in its cast.

“Works for me,” he said, grin wide and bright. Then it dropped. “Wait,” he said, suddenly serious. “What do I smell like?”

Keith snorted.

“Better than that cowboy?”

Keith grabbed Lance’s hand, and watched as he intertwined their fingers.

“You smell like you haven’t cleaned your cast in a while.”

He leaned in to kiss Lance again before he could argue back.

* * *

* * *

“No, no, nope, no,” Lance listed. “You’ve gotta go along with me here, it’s improv.”

Keith rolled his eyes but smiled.

“Lance,” he said gravely though the smirk lingered, “I have every intention of going along with you but you can’t just - say things like that. Not when we’re actually there, come on.”

Lance batted his lashes and made a terrible attempt to hide his grin.

“Like what?” He sniggered. “Like how handsome you look today?”

“Yeah, it’s unprofessional. We’ve got to make a good impression as Voltron.”

Lance snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. He pushed a few buttons on the dashboard of the ship, bringing up the map. He scrolled through it.

“If you say so, cap’n,” he said, glancing at Keith teasingly. “Sometimes it just comes out of me, I can’t help if I’m so full of love for my boyfriend.” There was an underlying smirk to his words, but Keith knew he was telling the truth.

Keith stared ahead at the starry route through the window, then looked over to Lance, the holographic map reflected on his face; Keith’s favorite face. All the purple and blue shifted over his long nose and thoughtful eyes. Lance’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he seemed to puzzle over something.

“It suits you,” Keith said suddenly, mouth moving without warning. “Being in Voltron. Piloting, diplomacy, generally. Of all the people to get the job, the universe is lucky it’s you.”

Lance’s face dropped into brief shock, then smoothed itself out again in something resembling joy.

“Aw,” he said, scratching his cheek bashfully. “You didn’t have to say that.”

Keith leaned over and squeezed his hand, enjoying the way the lights from the map glittered over their intertwined fingers.

“It just came out of me,” Keith said, in a poor impression of Lance.

Lance beamed.

“I knew you liked me, Keith, but I never knew you liked me _that_ much. Would you say it’s definitely enough to be president of my fanclub? Or just VP?” Lance stroked Keith’s hand with his thumb.

“I’ll stick with being one of the non-paying members I think,” Keith replied, turning back to the dashboard.

Lance grimaced. “Oh yeah, forgot how stingy you are like that.”

Keith ignored the comment, giving Lance’s hand one last squeeze before bringing it back over to the dashboard. “How’s your leg feeling?”

Lance gestured dramatically to his unbandaged leg. “Doesn’t hurt,” he said. “A nice change. Definitely the only reason I kind of lost.”

Keith hummed distractedly as he flicked a few switches, making sure the ship’s engine wasn’t overheating. “Lost what?”

Lance was suddenly very quiet and still. Keith looked over.

“Lance, lost what?”

Lance turned his head towards Keith, gritting his teeth, with the ghost of guilt written all over him.

“Well, just that,” he toyed with one of the buttons on the dashboard in front of him. Keith batted his hand away from it; it was the emergency evacuation switch. “Well, I _maybe_ knew you liked me and was kind of hoping you would say it first.”

Keith pulled back. “You … wait, what?”

Lance played with the button again. Keith grabbed his hand.

“I had it all planned - I was going to go on a mission where I flirted with the mark, and you’d get jealous and admit how much you loved me.”

Keith’s jaw dropped. Lance’s fidgety hand played with Keith’s fingertips, which had gone slack. At least that was preferable to Lance potentially triggering an emergency state inside the ship.

“But then Coran was all, _We need to keep you under surveillance since your injuries are so fresh_ -” it was a bad impression of Coran “-and then you had to be the one flirting, and my plan fell apart a bit.”

Keith let out a breath. “Just a bit.”

Lance offered a lopsided grin.

Keith chuckled. Then burst into laughter.

“So, _you_ were hustling me the whole time?”

Lance paused. “I guess so.”

“You’re a bad con artist.”

Lance looked mildly offended, then his face relaxed.

“I probably shouldn’t take that as an insult.”

Keith gave him an archly amused look, and turned to look out the window ahead of him. “Not this time.”

They continued going in a pleasant silence. Lance began humming the theme tune from some show while he perused his map. Keith tapped his fingers against the dashboard in time. They were approaching the planet, and it suddenly occurred to Keith that they were supposed to be practising their diplomacy skills for once they got there. Though they both knew they didn’t really need to; they made a good team. And besides, Lance was becoming a pretty excellent diplomat.

The planet was in view, and Lance flicked the map out of view, buckling in as Keith began preparing for the descent.

“Wait,” he said, as the ship began to slow. “You knew I liked you?”

Lance shrugged.

“I had a feeling. You kept looking at me _really_ softly, and - well, it was relatable.”

“Lance.”

Lance beamed, then leaned forwards to peck him on the lips.

“Come on, who isn’t in love with me?”

Keith rolled his eyes fondly before shifting the gears in the ship. 

“By which I mean that I also kept giving you all these really soft looks. But you never noticed.”

Wanting to retort, Keith opened his mouth, but only managed a puff of air. He really hadn’t noticed- that wasn’t exactly his strong suit. But he could afford to leave the bad con jobs to Lance.

**Author's Note:**

> In fact, Lance is the president of the Lance fanclub. Furthermore, despite the records shown, Keith is indeed the vice president. Similarly, Lance is also the president of the Hunk fanclub, Keith fanclub, and Coran fanclub.


End file.
